


In the Field

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [51]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Enemies, Espionage, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M was a Double-0, Mission Fic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Older Woman/Younger Man, Psychological Torture, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to the Bahamas has unexpected consequences for M - and for Bond too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts), [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts).



> For Wolfsbride (who gave me the initial idea - though I've warped it out of all recognition since), and Tayryn, who are both great cheerleaders as well as lovely friends.  
> This is set between Quantum of Solace and Skyfall.  
> (And in case it's not obvious - 'Andrew' is Q before he's become Q.)
> 
> PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THE TAGS AND ARCHIVE WARNING!

M has always loved the Bahamas, but for once she's not happy to be here. She's never been fond of attending funerals, and this one is particularly painful; it's bad enough when old friends die, but when it's an old colleague and former lover, it's even worse.

M sighs softly, then shakes her head, and finishes dressing in her lightweight black suit with a dark grey satin blouse. Wearing black in the Bahamas feels wrong, but she can't overcome the habits of a lifetime and wear white for a funeral, any more than she would wear dark colours for a wedding.

She steps into her shoes, sensible flat ones today rather than the usual heels she wears to help her overcome her naturally diminutive height. (It's bad enough that the Old Boys' Network looks down its collective nose at a woman heading up the Secret Intelligence Service, but it's worse when they do it literally as well as figuratively.) Then she puts on her hat and picks up her shoulder bag. 

She wonders who else will be at the funeral: not many of her fellow Double-0 agents survive from her days in the field, and Tommy Radcliffe had only survived this long by virtue of being invalided out of the Service just before M become head of Station H, in Hong Kong. She still feels a residual guilt that the same mission which saw him nearly killed, had left her with only a small scar, and a promotion.

She lets herself out of the hotel suite and heads downstairs into the heat and sunlight.

007-007-007

An hour later, M is amongst the small group of Tommy's mourners who have congregated at the bar nearest to the cemetery where they've just made their final farewells to him. She is sitting near the door, on the edge of the group, watching her fellow mourners; aside from Tommy's widow, whom he married two years after leaving the Service, M's the only other woman, but she's far too used to that situation for it to be more than a minor irritant. She hadn't met Tommy's wife before today, less from choice than from a lack of opportunity, work being the all-consuming thing that it is, and she finds herself intrigued by the woman Tommy had chosen to marry. Elizabeth ('Everyone calls me Betty') Radcliffe, nee Harrison, is a plump, motherly-looking woman, around three inches taller than M, with coiffed brown hair and warm brown eyes, who hadn't batted an eyelid when M had introduced herself as Emma Mace (M's cover), Tommy's old friend and colleague from his Civil Service days.

After two drinks, which she'd sipped slowly, M decides she's been as sociable as she can manage in the circumstances, and she crosses the bar and heads through the door that leads to the toilets. As she steps back out of the Ladies she sees a movement to her right, and turns to look at the door to the Gents, just as one large hand clamps itself around her upper arm, and the other hand is slapped over her mouth and nose, and a pad of what she suspects is chloroform is held in place until she finds her mind spiralling down into darkness.

007-007-007

It's almost midnight in London, and James Bond is in a bar, enjoying the company of two gorgeous young women when his phone vibrates against his thigh. He apologises to the women with a mental curse, then tugs his phone out of his pocket and makes his way into a corner to answer the call.

"Bond."

"James, thank god I've found you." Bill Tanner, Chief of Staff at the Secret Intelligence Service sounds unusually panicky, and Bond feels a rush of adrenaline.

"What's up, Bill?"

"M's gone missing," Tanner says succinctly, and Bond feels as if his heart has leapt into his mouth.

"What?" he demands urgently, not quite believing Tanner.

"You'd better get into the office right away, James," Tanner says, and Bond knows he's serious.

"I'll be there as soon as humanly possible," Bond says and ends the call as he turns on his heel and hurries out, without even bothering to apologise to his two newest friends. 

He flags down a taxi outside the bar, and gives the driver the address as he flings himself through the door.

"In a hurry mate?" asks the cabbie, looking startled. 

"It's life and death," Bond says curtly, and the cabbie's expression turns to outright shock, before he turns his head away and shoots into the traffic to a chorus of protesting horns from the cars around them.

He pays off the taxi a few doors down from the side entrance to HQ, and hurries along the pavement to let himself inside with his keycard. As soon as he's within the building he shows no restraint, and sprints up the three flights of stairs to where M and Tanner have their offices.

He finds Tanner, and a dark-haired young man whom he doesn’t recognise, peering at Tanner's monitor, although they both look up when Bond strides towards them.

"What's happening?" he demands of Tanner.

"We've managed to spot M being bundled into a large black car with tinted windows parked in the car park at the rear of a bar close to the cemetery where the funeral was held. It's fortunate that the bar had security cameras trained on the car park." Tanner looked satisfied at this piece of good luck.

"Can you see who took her, or who was driving?" Bond asks.

"No," answers the young man. "That is, we can see the individual who puts M into the car, but not their face."

"Sorry, but who are you?" asks Bond.

"Andrew, from Q-branch."

"Where's Major Boothroyd?" 

"I haven't yet called him in," Tanner answers. "Andrew was already in the building, and he knows a good deal about computer systems."

Bond nods. "So how are we going to track whoever has taken M? And where was her bodyguard during all this?" he asks, belatedly realising no one has mentioned Anderson.

Tanner winces. "She left him at the hotel while she went to the funeral."

"What?" Bond's voice goes up an octave, so appalled is he by this news. "Why the hell would she do such a thing?"

Tanner shrugs. "I'm assuming she thought her cover wouldn't have a bodyguard."

"For fuck's sake!" Andrew looks shocked at Bond's violent response. "She couldn't have pretended he was her son or something?"

Bond stalks away and kicks at the wall angrily, then stalks back. "How long has she been missing?"

Tanner checks his watch. "It's an hour since Anderson reported her missing."

"Who was the last person to see her at the bar?" 

"That's what we're waiting for Anderson to tell us," Tanner says. "He's supposed to be ringing as soon as he's got that information."

"I'm going home to get my bag," Bond says.

"You're not going to wait for more information?" Andrew asks, sounding surprised.

"No, I'm not. I need to get out there as soon as possible. You can keep me informed. Well, Bill can. You can equip me."

The young man looks startled, flushing bright red, then scrambles to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. "I'd be honoured, 007." He sounds breathlessly eager and Bond glances at Tanner from the corner of his eye and sees an amused twist to the older man's lips. He decides that discretion is the better part of valour, and makes no comment, simply gesturing for Andrew to precede him. 

"I'll get your transport sorted – Northolt's the best bet, I think," Tanner says. "Bring her back safely, James."

Bond nods. "Do my best, Bill." He strides off, Andrew scurrying ahead of him.

007-007-007

By two o'clock in the morning Bond's at RAF Northolt and about to board a military jet to take him out to the Bahamas. Tanner had arranged it with the Chief of Air Staff, thankfully bypassing anyone who might have dared to argue. The situation is much too urgent to waste time on shilly-shallying and Bond's annoyed that he's had to squander an hour getting equipped, going home for his emergency bag, and getting out to the airfield.

He taps his ear-bug and speaks to Tanner. "I'm just about to board the jet. Text me when you hear from Anderson, and I'll speak to you once I'm on the ground."

"All right. Oh, and Bond? Field Agent 416 will meet you at the airport. I've apprised her of the situation, and she'll be ready to assist you in locating M and getting her back home."

"Thanks Bill."

Bond uses the first part of the flight time to read the report Tanner had given him on the late Thomas 'Tommy' Radcliffe, the man whose funeral M had attended that afternoon. He learns that Radcliffe had been a Double-0 agent (005) at the time that he was invalided out of the Service following a near-fatal encounter with one Wilmer Reinhard, an East German agent known as The Fox, who had been selling secrets during the Cold War. M, who'd been 007 back in those days (a piece of information that gives Bond a jolt of emotion he immediately pushes to the back of his brain), had taken down, but not killed, Reinhard, before getting her partner to safety, saving his life in the process. 

Bond continues to read, committing everything to memory, as the jet carries him west; once he's finished reading the file, he settles down to get some sleep: a military jet can get him to Nassau faster than a commercial flight, but it still can't get him there instantly, and he's too old a hand not to take advantage of any opportunity for sleep that comes his way. He doesn't expect to get too much rest once he's on the ground, so he tilts his seat back, closes his eyes and slows his breathing, knowing that sleep will come quickly.

007-007-007 

At five thirty in the morning, local time, Bond is met off the jet at Lynden Pindling International Airport by an attractive, dark-skinned young woman who introduces herself as Agent 416. 

"Bond, James Bond," he answers, shaking hands. "What do I call you?"

"My name is Eve," she answers.

He nods. "Lead the way, Eve." He's pleased that she doesn't waste any time in obeying, turning on her heel and heading straight towards one of the customs officers, with whom she has a quick, low-voiced conversation. The man, an even darker-skinned individual than Eve, nods at the conclusion of the conversation, then beckons Bond over. He presents his passport, answers a couple of questions, then walks out with Eve at his side a mere five minutes after he'd landed.

"That was quick," he says approvingly, and she ducks her head, clearly pleased that he's pleased.

She leads him towards a Sunbeam Alpine, a rather battered-looking vehicle, but he assumes it's part of her cover so he doesn't complain that it's not an Aston Martin, or the sort of car he would normally drive. He tosses his bag into the back seat, then climbs into the passenger one; he is careful not to ask Eve any questions about her role in Nassau, he trusts her to tell him anything that he may need to know that's pertinent to his mission here, otherwise operational security means that it's no business of his.

"Tanner texted me on the flight over," he observes, "and said Anderson had discovered that the late Radcliffe's widow was the last to see M at the bar they went to after the funeral."

Eve nods. "Yes sir, I've got the details from Mr Tanner and I'll drive you over there a little later."

"No need to call me 'Sir'," he says with a smile. "James will do."

She flashes him a smile, then puts the car in motion. "Thank you, James."

"What can you tell me about the widow?"

"Elizabeth Radcliffe, nee Harrison. Everyone calls her Betty. She's about five foot four, on the plump side, with brown hair and eyes. Mr Anderson described her as maternal, the sort of woman who is often referred to as a 'mother hen type', because she cares about the people around being happy and looked after. An inveterate maker of soups, stews, or cakes to share with friends and neighbours."

"Age?" asks Bond.

"Fifty-five. She was a nurse before she married Radcliffe."

"His nurse?"

She shakes her head. "No. But she worked in the hospital where he was a regular patient and had seen him often."

"Hmm. What sort of witness is she?"

"Mr Anderson says she's the sensible, reliable sort. Not one to embroider, or speculate uselessly."

"Good."

Bond doesn't ask any further questions, he simply sits back and lets Eve drive; his eyes are closed, but he's not asleep – instead his mind is busy going back over everything he'd read on the plane the night before.

The car stops, and Bond opens his eyes to see they've arrived at a decent-sized hotel. "This is where M is staying," Eve tells him, and he nods his understanding. "I thought you'd like to shower and change, and have some breakfast before we go and see Mrs Radcliffe."

"That's a very good idea, thank you." Her skin takes on a rusty hue as she flushes in pleasure at his gratitude, and Bond can't help wondering if the head of Station C is so sparing in his praise that Eve should respond with embarrassment to his own mild praise.

"Why don't you meet me in the dining room," Bond suggests, "while I go and shower?"

She nods, and they make their way inside. 

"Which room is Anderson in?" 

Eve matches his low voice as she answers, "216, next door to M's, which is 214."

"Very well." He crosses to the reception desk, and within a few minutes he's booked into suite 212, and on his way upstairs. He contemplates rousting Anderson out of bed now, assuming he's actually sleeping and not out somewhere trying to drown his sorrows after making such a monumental mistake as letting the head of the Secret Intelligence Service get kidnapped. Instead, he decides to shower and change, then talk to Anderson before he goes down to breakfast.

Bond's pleased to discover the hotel has air-conditioning, and his large, comfortable suite has an ensuite bathroom. He drops his bag on the bed, locks the door, then strips off his clothes and pads naked into the bathroom to shower. 

Ten minutes later he's feeling rather more human and less inclined to rip off Anderson's head, which is probably a good thing. He towels himself dry, then changes into a short-sleeved blue cotton polo-shirt, a pair of linen trousers, and some loafers. He considers going for some breakfast first, then decides to get the unpleasant part of the job out of the way, and locking his door behind him, he goes down the corridor and knocks on Anderson's door.

He's pleased when Anderson opens the door almost immediately.

"Ah shit," Anderson says, his face screwing up in an expression of dismay at the sight of his visitor. "You'd better come in." He steps back, swinging the door wider for Bond to enter.

Bond keeps his temper with difficulty and stalks into the suite. He crosses over to the window and stands with his back to it, facing Anderson who, having closed the door, is now standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, doing his best to look defiant despite his obvious lack of sleep, stubble and dishevelled clothes.

"You are a bloody idiot, Mr Anderson," Bond says, his pleasant tone belying his fury, although he's aware that his muscles are rigid with anger.

Anderson sighs. "Chief of Staff's already told me that," he says. "And torn me off several strips, as well."

"Oh, and you think I shouldn't flay you whole for your stupidity?" Bond snaps. "What the hell were you thinking, letting M go off to that funeral alone? You're her _personal_ bodyguard, which means she doesn't set foot outside her suite without you."

Anderson scowls. "That's easy for you to say, 007. She really likes you, everyone knows that – me, she merely tolerates. Have you ever tried telling M what to do? Because, believe me, it's not as easy as you might think."

Bond glares. "I don't give a fuck whether she likes you or not. It's your job to protect her at all times. You should have gone with her, and if she wouldn't agree to you accompanying her, you should have followed her."

The only reason Bond's not yelling at Anderson is the early hour – he doesn't want to get them both thrown out of the hotel if they cause a scene, but he's very close to punching the bodyguard.

"So Mr Tanner told me," Anderson says, his shoulders slumping and the defiance going out of his stance and his expression all at once. "I suppose I'll be hung out to dry for this."

"If we don't get M back alive and well, I'll crucify you myself," Bond says. "I'm inclined to pack you straight back to London right now, but the most important thing is finding M, and I might need an extra pair of hands beside Agent 416." He pushes off the window ledge and stalks toward the other man. "But believe me, Mr Anderson, if you screw up again, I will make you seriously regret ever being born." He pokes the bodyguard's shoulder. "Get yourself cleaned up, then come and join me and Agent 416 for breakfast."

"Yes sir."

Bond gives him a curt nod, then lets himself out of the suite and heads downstairs in desperate need of some coffee. He wonders what to make of Anderson's remark about M really liking him. It's true that since the end of the Quantum affair, he and M have been bickering less, although she's still as caustic as ever when he does something of which she disapproves.

He shakes his head, dismissing it as unimportant right now, and strides into the hotel dining room where he finds Eve at a corner table, her back to the wall and keeping an eye on the handful of other early risers.

"Did you speak to Mr Anderson?" she asks, her expression sympathetic, and he wonders if he still looks furious.

"I did." He sighs, then forces his muscles to relax before taking a seat next to her. "He'll be joining us for breakfast, and we'll hash out a plan of action. I think I'll keep you as my wheelman – woman, I should say – and I'll get Anderson to do some footwork."

Eve nods. "I've got this for you." She slips her hand into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out a credit card-sized laminated ID card. "The local chief of police is very sympathetic, and when I explained what had happened, with Mr Tanner's permission, he gave me this to facilitate your enquiries."

"You'd better thank the chief of police for me," Bond says, staring at the card; it looks impressively authentic, with his photo on it. It claims he's a detective for the local police force, and having it should open quite a few doors for him.

The waiter approaches, and Bond orders breakfast: scrambled eggs on two slices of wholewheat toast; freshly squeezed orange juice; and a pot of strong black coffee. Eve asks for half a grapefruit to go with the coffee, and Anderson, who arrives just as the waiter's about to depart, says he'll just have coffee.

The three of them make small talk, albeit rather forced, while they wait for their breakfast to appear. Once it does, they begin discussing what they will do this morning.

"I want you to find out more about Wilmer Reinhard," Bond tells Anderson. "Contact Bill in London and see if he can send you any up-to-date information, including a photo, if they can get one."

"Who's Wilmer Reinhard?" asks Eve, curiously.

"An East German who sold secrets during the Cold War. He had a run in with Radcliffe and M, back when she was a Double-0 agent. In fact, Reinhard was responsible for Radcliffe's injuries, and the reason why Radcliffe was invalided out of the Service. It occurred to me on the plane coming out that he could have seen Radcliffe's obituary, assuming _he_ is still alive, and that might have drawn him out here. Assuming it is him behind M's abduction – and it's only a working theory at present - he might not even know that M's now the head of the Service. He may just have taken her in revenge for the fact that she'd thwarted his operation all those years ago, and for the fact that she injured him rather more badly than he managed to hurt her."

Bond swallows a mouthful of coffee, then tells Anderson, "Ask the Chief of Staff if Reinhard's still alive, and if so, whereabouts his usual sphere of operations is, and if there have been any sightings of him recently, particularly here in the Bahamas."

Anderson nods, and Bond continues, "Once you've done that and assuming Reinhard's still alive and you can get a current photo of him, take it over to the bar and show it to the staff, and any customers who might be there, and see if anyone recognises him."

"Very well."

"In the meantime, Agent 416 is going to drive me over to see Radcliffe's widow, and we'll go from there. We'll keep in touch via text messages, unless something really urgent comes up." Bond finishes the last mouthful of his food, then swallows the remainder of his coffee, before getting to his feet. The other two follow suit, and Bond nips upstairs to grab his sunglasses, and his Walther. While he doesn't expect Reinhard to show his face this morning, he would rather not go out unprepared for trouble, should it come looking for him.

007-007-007

When M regains consciousness she finds herself lying on an air mattress on the floor of a cool, stone-walled room without any windows, and a concrete floor. There's a bucket in the corner, about a dozen paces away, and a naked, low-watt light bulb provides the only illumination. She pushes herself into a sitting position, and the light instantly snaps off.

She's startled and immediately wonders if her movement triggered the light to go off, but when she resumes her former supine position the light doesn't come back on. She sits back up and begins rubbing at her wrists, which feel bruised and sore; she believes they've been bound with a thin, tough cord, to judge by how narrow the band of bruised skin is around her wrists. Her mouth is uncomfortably dry and she wonders how many hours have passed since she was snatched at Tommy Radcliffe's wake. She feels quite hungry, which suggests it's at least six hours since her lunch. 

She thinks she's in a basement somewhere, and it occurs to her that if she's been unconscious for at least six hours, she may not be in Nassau any more.

Ruefully she acknowledges that she was foolish to insist that her bodyguard remain at the hotel while she went to Tommy's funeral; it was mostly pride, she has to admit: she hadn't wanted anyone from the Service to witness her grief for Tommy in case they read more into her previous relationship with him than she was prepared to reveal.

She wonders if Anderson has missed her yet, and what, if anything, Tanner is going to do; she has every faith in him running the department in her absence, but she knows it's not a job he'd want to do permanently. 

She leans back against the wall behind her and considers who's most likely to be behind her kidnapping; one name springs immediately to mind simply because he's the most obvious link between herself and Tommy: Wilmer Reinhard, also known as The Fox. She shivers slightly as she contemplates his probable state of mind: she can't imagine that he's forgiven her for thwarting him nearly thirty years ago, particularly when that final encounter left him badly injured. Although not as badly as poor Tommy, whom she had loved fiercely and without restraint. 

M sighs softly in the dark: wishing things had turned out differently was futile, and she'd be better off trying to find a way out of the predicament in which she finds herself. It would be foolish to rely on Tanner or someone else finding her.

She hears a noise in the dark and realises that she can just make out the dim outline of a door being opened in the far wall. She scrambles to her feet, wincing at the stiffness in her joints, but she has only taken one step away from the mattress when the door shuts again. Cursing in the silence of her brain, she makes her way cautiously across to where she'd seen the door open. She crouches down, her right hand on the door, and reaches out with her left hand, which encounters an earthenware object. It only takes her a moment to recognise that it's a jug, and she lowers her hand into its wide neck until her fingertips encounter a cool liquid. She raises her hand again and sniffs at her fingers, but there's no scent, so she dares to cautiously lick her fingertips, and tastes water.

M's both relieved and worried: she is glad to have some water, but she is concerned by the lack of food: does Reinhard intend to starve her to death, she wonders, then reasons that if that was his plan, he surely wouldn't bother giving her any water. She picks up the jug carefully and carries it back across the room to the mattress; setting it down with some relief, because it's heavy, she sits down again, then lifts the jug and takes a few sips to ease her parched mouth and throat. She would like to gulp it down greedily, but she has no idea how soon she'll be given more, so after only a few mouthfuls she sets the jug aside, then lies down on the mattress. 

As she settles herself she wonders why she's being left here alone in the dark – she'd expected Reinhard to be boasting of his brilliance in capturing her, and gloating over how he's going to make her pay for her lapse. She doesn't like the silent treatment – it gives her no handle on how to deal with him.

Feeling weary, she closes her eyes, and within moments she's fast asleep.

007-007-007

Eve drives Bond out to see Mrs Radcliffe after breakfast. The state of some of the roads makes him grateful he's not driving his own car because he dreads to think what would happen to the suspension. 

The Radcliffe home is around the coast, not far from the Palm Cay Marina, and Bond notes that the villas here each have a patch of lawn at the front, bougainvillaea, and a bed of crotons and canna lilies, which add a blaze of colour to this otherwise rather modest suburb. 

Bond notices a ramp leading into the house, rather than a set of steps, which isn't a surprise since he knows that Radcliffe was wheelchair bound as a consequence of his near-fatal encounter with Reinhard.

Eve leads the way up to the front door and knocks, then steps back so that she's standing just behind Bond's right shoulder. The door opens and a woman who can only be Mrs Radcliffe stands in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Radcliffe. My name is James Bond and I'd like to ask you a few questions about yesterday, when Emma Mace went missing, if that's acceptable?" He shows her the ID card Eve had got for him, and she barely glances at it before she's stepping back to allow them to enter.

"Oh dear me, yes, come in, come in." Her accent holds a soft Welsh lilt that's pleasant on the ear, and between her brown hair and eyes, sun-browned skin, and the café-au-lait coloured dress she's wearing, she seems, to Bond, to very nearly resemble a mother hen.

She leads them down the hallway, and into a spacious sitting room that looks out over a pretty garden that overlooks the beach from its cliff top setting. After seeing them seated and establishing that they don't want anything to drink, she looks at Bond expectantly.

"I understand from my colleague, Mr Anderson, that you were the last person to see Ms Mace yesterday afternoon before she went missing. Can you tell me what time that was, please?"

"Yes, of course. It was about half past five that I saw her making her way through to the facilities. I was keeping an eye open for her to come back, you see, so that I could have a proper chat with her since we had barely spoken earlier in the afternoon. Knowing that she'd been the one who'd saved my Tommy's life, well, I wanted to thank her, you see. And Tommy left something for her, which I wanted her to have before she flew back to London, so I was going to ask Emma to come back and have dinner with me yesterday evening, so we could talk properly, and I could give her Tommy's keepsake." 

She paused for breath, before continuing. "But Emma didn't return, so I thought I must have missed seeing her come back after all. It wasn't until your Mr Anderson turned up asking when I'd last seen her that I knew she'd gone missing."

Bond nods his understanding, then fishes his phone from his pocket. "I'd like to show you a photo of someone, if that's all right, and perhaps you can tell me if you've ever seen him here in Nassau?"

"Oh yes, my dear, of course." She reaches over to the side table beside her chair and picks up a pair of glasses as Bond passes over his phone to show her the photo of Reinhard which Bill Tanner had forwarded to him from London.

Mrs Radcliffe stares at it for several long moments and Bond exchanges a look with Eve, wondering if the widow is going to say yes, but she eventually shakes her head before passing back the phone. 

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I can't say that I recognise him at all."

Bond shakes his head. "Never mind. We appreciate your time and assistance, Mrs Radcliffe."

"May I give you the keepsake which Tommy wanted Emma to have?"

"Yes, of course," Bond answers, wondering if he'll get the chance to give it to M. He banishes that thought immediately. He'll find her, even if he has to tear the island apart to do so.

The widow gets to her feet and goes over to a Welsh dresser in the corner, and Bond observes that the shelves are laden with plates, each one painted with a bird or a flower of Britain. She opens one of the drawers and pulls out a bulky, brown-paper wrapped parcel, which she brings back and passes to Bond. 

"I hope you find Emma quickly, Mr Bond, and if it's possible, I would very much like her to come and have dinner with me."

"Thank you, Mrs Radcliffe. I'll be sure to pass on your invitation as well as Tommy's keepsake."

She nods, then leads the way back to the front door, and sees them out.

"What do you think the keepsake is?" asks Eve as they climb into the car.

Bond shrugs. "At a guess, the manuscript of a book."

She looks both startled and impressed by his answer. "What makes you say that?"

He turns the parcel towards her and shows her a spot where the brown paper has been torn slightly, through which it's just possible to make out sheets of paper stacked together. "It seems the most logical assumption."

Eve shakes her head slightly, smiling at him, then puts the car in gear and pulls away from the house. "Where next?"

"Let's go and get something to eat," he suggests, and she nods agreement.

As they head back towards the hotel, Bond ponders what Mrs Radcliffe has told them. Anderson reported M as missing a little before seven o'clock yesterday evening, local time, and Bill Tanner had rung him immediately on receiving the news, allowing for the five hour time difference between Nassau and London. Which meant that Reinhard, if it was Reinhard who'd captured M, had approximately ninety minutes head start before anyone began seriously looking for her. The island wasn't that big, so ninety minutes was sufficiently long enough to hide someone if you had planned in advance, and Bond can't imagine that someone of Reinhard's calibre wouldn't have done some very careful advance planning. He couldn't have known M would be coming to the funeral, not unless he had a mole inside the Service, or had known the name of M's cover (which seemed unlikely since it wasn't the name M had used back in her Double-0 days), but that didn't mean Reinhard couldn't have made his plans in the expectation that M would show up if she was still alive.

Bond now knew what he needed Eve and Anderson to do next.


	2. Chapter 2

When M wakes next, it's still dark in her cell, and she feels so woolly-headed that she wonders if it's a lack of food that's making her feel this way. But as she picks up the jug to drink some more water a thought forces its way into her brain, and she puts the jug back down without drinking as she wonders if the water is drugged. Keeping a prisoner in the dark, depriving them of sustenance and sensory stimulation, and drugging them, are all means used by captors to torture their captives. And if it is The Fox who's snatched her, then he will certainly want to torture her before he finally kills her.

Just as this thought occurs to her there comes a sudden blast of noise that makes her clap her hands over her ears in an attempt to lessen the assault on her hearing. She has, it seems, forgotten that over-stimulation of the senses was another way to torture someone. 

Reinhard must know that she wouldn't last long if he were to physically torture her, so he's chosen psychological torture instead. She bends her legs and rests her face against her bent knees, wrapping her arms around her head in a vain attempt to block out the sound, which seems likely to deafen her very quickly. It would, she thinks, be a blessed relief compared to this raucous din.

007-007-007

Back at the hotel, Bond, Eve and Anderson have lunch, and he outlines what he wants the two of them to do during the afternoon: Anderson is to show Reinhard's photo to the mourners who are locals, while Bond will see those visiting mourners who are still on the island, and show them the photo. Eve, meanwhile, will go to the airport, and the ferry ports to see if anyone there has seen either Reinhard arriving or departing, or M departing with someone else.

Bond decides that after he's tried the mourners who are still in town, he will also go and visit the local chief of police: he's not too proud to ask for local assistance, after all, this isn't his usual sort of mission, and he worries that the longer they take to find M, the worse it will be for her. From what he's read of Reinhard in Tommy Radcliffe's file, the man is utterly ruthless, and Bond can't imagine he won't hesitate to torture M. 

He parts company with Eve and Anderson, agreeing to meet up with them both for dinner, then heads up to his room to shower again and change. After showering, he sits on his bed wrapped in a towel, and rings Bill: it's time to let him know how things stand, and to get more information on Reinhard; if, as he suspects is likely to happen, he'll have to go up against Reinhard, he wants all the background that he can get before confronting him.

It's six thirty in London, but Bond doesn't doubt he'll find Bill at his desk still: he knows from past experience that both Bill and M have slept on camp beds in their offices during times of high crisis.

Sure enough the phone only rings once before it's picked up and he hears Bill's anxious voice on the other end of the line.

"Bond? Have you found her?"

"Sorry Bill, not yet. I rang to give you an update, and to ask for any and all information you might have on Wilmer Reinhard."

"The Fox? That's who you think is behind this? That was why you wanted a recent photo of him?"

"Yes. He's the most obvious link between M and the late Tommy Radcliffe, and from what I read in Radcliffe's file on the flight over here, I can believe that he'd leap at the chance to get his revenge on M, if he possibly can, for what she did to him back in eighty-six. To have his operation thwarted was bad enough, but to have it thwarted by a woman – well, I've met enough men who loathe women with any kind of power, and reading between the lines of Radcliffe's file, Reinhard is just such a man."

"I'll send Anderson an electronic copy of the file for you, and query our European Heads of Station to see if anyone has any up-to-date information on him."

"Thanks, Bill." He stares unseeingly out of the window for a moment, then asks, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," his friend says instantly. "You know me."

"Yeah," Bond agrees, "I do know you, and I also know how much you care about M."

"As do we all," Bill says quickly.

Bond chuckles softly. "Yes, we do. All right, I'll be in touch as soon as I have any news, or need any more information from you."

"All right. Good luck."

"Thanks." 

Bond ends the call, then gets dressed and prepares to go and hunt down Tommy Radcliffe's mourners.

007-007-007

M doesn't know how many hours have passed when silence falls in her cell again, but it seems to have been a very long time and her eardrums feel as if they're throbbing. She realises she's weeping with relief, and fishes for a tissue to dry her eyes. She'd be annoyed at herself for showing such weakness, except that she knows it's a perfectly normal reaction to the easing of pain. 

She wonders how long her captor will keep this up before he – or she, though she doesn't believe it's anyone else but Reinhard – reveals himself. She also wonders how long she can stand this torture; back in her Double-0 days she had been physically tortured only once, but she'd got herself free within twenty-four hours. She sees no way to free herself from this situation: she has no weapons, nor even something to use for a make-shift one. Added to which, she's hungry, exhausted, and fearful for her future.

Silently she wishes Bond was here: as annoying as he often is with his tendency to disobey orders, she'd welcome him with open arms were he to walk through the door of her cell.

Since she's both thirsty and exhausted, she picks up the jug of water and swallows down several mouthfuls: drinking it feels like giving in to Reinhard, but at the moment, she simply doesn't care.

007-007-007

Bond, having failed to find anyone who recognises Reinhard among the visiting mourners, is heading into town to see the chief of police when his phone rings. He pulls his hired car over to the side of the road and tugs his phone from his pocket.

"Bond."

"Anderson here," answers M's bodyguard, and Bond can hear a note of triumph in his voice. "I've found someone who saw Reinhard yesterday afternoon."

"A definite ID?" Bond asks, hardly daring to believe it.

"Positive. There's an elderly couple here in the pub who saw him in the car park as they were on their way into the pub. They noticed him because of his eye patch, and the walking stick he was using: it's an ebony cane with a silver snarling wolf's head on the top."

"That's good news. Did he have a car?"

"Yes, a black Thunderbird."

"The man's more of a fool than I thought," Bond says, surprised that Reinhard would be driving around in such a distinctive car. He shakes his head. "Well done, Anderson. I'm on my way to see the local police, and I'll ask them to check whether a black Thunderbird has been spotted on any traffic cameras."

"What do you want me to do now, sir?"

"You've got the contact details of this couple?"

"A Mr and Mrs Gayle. Got their address and everything."

"Good man. Why don't you contact Eve and find out where she is with checking the airport and ferry terminals? I want to know if Reinhard's still on the island, or if he's taken M somewhere else, and that job will go faster with two of you."

"I'll give her a ring right away," Anderson says immediately.

"Good. I'll see you both for dinner this evening, then."

Bond ends the call, smiling grimly at Anderson's news. The fact that Reinhard is driving around in a distinctive car, not to mention using a idiosyncratic walking stick and wearing an eye-patch, indicates a level of stupidity which Bond hadn't expected to encounter. He wonders whether Reinhard's turned senile, or if he's gone unchallenged for so long that he doesn't expect anyone to be able to stop him. Either way, he's made it a good deal easier for Bond to track and locate him: even if he were to abandon the Thunderbird, the walking cane and the eye-patch are sufficiently unforgettable that Bond can't imagine anyone failing to notice him.

Sure enough, Bond's just driven into the car park outside the headquarters of the local police force when his phone rings again, and this time it's Eve, with the news that a man answering Reinhard's description had flown into Lynden Pindling International Airport four days before M, but he had yet to fly out from there. 

"Are there any private airports on the island?" Bond asks immediately.

"No, but there's New Providence Airport, which has been closed since 1999. It's over on Paradise Island, and there are two bridges from here to there, so Reinhard wouldn't have had to fly or take a boat to get there. He could easily have put M in his car and simply driven over there."

"Send Anderson over there to see if anyone saw Reinhard and M fly from there. If he had a private aircraft on standby, he could have flown to almost anywhere. There's no point continuing to hunt for M here if she's no longer on the island."

"Yes sir." 

007-007-007

When M wakes next she discovers she's naked, and no longer alone. Nor is she in the cell in which she first awoke. The room she is currently occupying is tiled half way up the walls, then painted above, and is wholly white; it's also horribly bright as there are two neon strip lights in the ceiling providing far more illumination than is comfortable for someone who's been in the dark for so many hours. She notes a long, narrow window up near the ceiling and realises that its position means it overlooks the garden, allowing light in, but no view out. 

M is in a folding metal chair, her ankles strapped to its legs, and her hands restrained behind the back of the chair. Facing her is Wilmer Reinhard; he hasn't aged well, she notices at once: he's lost an eye, and his left leg, the one she'd put two bullets in before getting a bleeding Tommy Radcliffe to safety, now looks misshapen. Which she supposes explains the ridiculously flamboyant ebony walking cane he's using, with its silver snarling wolf's head. 

"You always were a show-off, Reinhard," she says, her voice even huskier than usual thanks to at least twenty-four hours disuse.

"And you've always been a mouthy bitch with no sense of self-preservation," Reinhard says, with a snarl. She tries to duck the blow she sees him aiming her way, but a very large pair of hands clasps her head to hold it still, hands which she seems to recognise from when she was captured back at the pub following Tommy's funeral. 

The blow is made more painful by the ring on Reinhard's third finger, and she feels a trickle of blood on her cheek afterwards. She glares up at him, even though she knows defiance is useless; but she wouldn't have become M if she hadn't spent her entire career defying men in some way or another. 

"Why am I here, Reinhard?" she asks. She knows why, of course, or can make a pretty shrewd guess, but she wants him to spell it out.

"Because I want to make you pay, bitch, for all the years of pain I've suffered, suffering you inflicted on me." His remaining grey eye is cold and merciless as he stares at her. "I could physically torture you, of course, but you're an old woman, you wouldn't last very long. I prefer psychological torture – you've already had a taste of it, and I shall give you even more, until you beg me to kill you to end your misery."

M opens her mouth to offer a retort, but one of those large hands clamps over it, cutting off her air. Through the tears that are gathering in her eyes as she struggles to breathe, she sees Reinhard step closer, a hypodermic needle in his free hand, and she can't help trying to pull free, even though she knows it's a futile gesture. 

The needle slides into her skin, and the hand releases her mouth, leaving her sobbing and wheezing for breath as the drug enters her bloodstream. Knowing Reinhard as she does, she suspects he's just given her a psychoactive drug – back in the days when he was actively selling secrets during the Cold War, he'd been particularly fond of using LSD.

She shudders as she feels her wrists being freed from their restraints, then her ankles are untied. The large-handed man behind her lifts her from the chair, and she hears it clatter as he folds it up and she sinks to the floor, still trying to regain her breath. Reinhard and his thug move to the far end of the room, both of them watching her closely, and M closes her eyes and curls up on her side as she waits for the drug's effects to begin.

007-007-007

Bond is just leaving the police headquarters when Anderson rings again.

"Reinhard did charter a private flight," he says excitedly.

"To where?" asks Bond, feeling a rush of adrenaline at this news.

"Kingston, Jamaica."

"So he did take her off the island?" It's part question, part statement, and Anderson answers quickly,

"Yes sir. The pilot clearly remembers not only Reinhard, but his very sick 'wife', and the burly male 'nurse' who travelled with them. Apparently the nurse carried Reinhard's wife from the car to the plane because she was unconscious. Reinhard told the pilot they were going home to Kingston, and that his wife's doctor would be waiting for them on arrival."

"Good work, Anderson. Let Eve know, will you – she's already on her way back to the hotel." 

"Will do. What do you want me to do now?"

"Head back to the hotel as well," Bond says. "If Bill Tanner's sent you Reinhard's file, as I requested, forward it to my phone, will you? I've got another errand to run, and I can start looking at it before dinner."

"Yes sir." Anderson hangs up, and Bond shakes his head a little at the man's obviously trusting nature. He'll need to have a word with M about that, once this situation's dealt with, because a man who's working as M's bodyguard has no business trusting anyone, not even a fellow SIS operative.

007-007-007

It's an hour and a half from Nassau to Kingston by air, and Bond uses the time to read through Reinhard's file. He discovers that the operation to catch Reinhard lasted for several months, with Tommy Radcliffe only becoming involved during the final weeks, after M, whose codename then was Evelyn Miller, had seduced Reinhard. 

He stops reading and stares blindly out of the window: part of him is appalled that M allowed herself to become a honeypot, but another part of him is deeply impressed since he knows from personal experience just how difficult such a role can be to maintain. He isn't surprised that Sir Miles Messervy, the man who was M in those days, had allowed her to take on the role because he's seen photos of his M when she was a young woman, and she was (and still is, in his mind) undeniably sexy.

He brings his attention back to the file and resumes reading, learning that Reinhard's left leg was injured when M shot him there twice, including in the kneecap, and an attempt was made to repair the damage, but the operation was botched, leaving him worse off than before. His right eye had been lost as the result of a knife fight a few years after his encounter with M in East Germany.

Bond steps off the plane in Kingston and finds an airport official who doesn't look too busy. Bond presents him with his fake ID from Commander Edwards in Nassau, and explains that he's searching for Emma Mace, who has been taken from her home against her will by an unscrupulous son-in-law. He describes Reinhard and M, and mentions the thug who Anderson had been told had been carrying M.

To Bond's relief the man clearly remembers seeing the trio; they had hired a car from the Avis Rental stand outside. Bond thanks the man, tips him, and strides out of the airport building to find the Avis Rental stand. He explains his purpose again, and the Avis man tells him that Reinhard's thug had hired the car for a week; he gives Bond the registration number, colour and make of the hired car, then allows him to rent a Honda CR-V, which Bond selects because of its ability to go off-road. He has a hunch about where he might find Reinhard, and M, and he's willing to play that hunch, but he also intends to contact Bill Tanner and ask him to enlist the aid of Andrew from Q-Branch to see if he can track Reinhard's hire car.

He's made up his mind, he's not leaving Jamaica unless M goes with him.

007-007-007

Bond is already on the road to the Blue Mountain area when Bill Tanner rings him back with the news that Reinhard's hired car had been picked up by traffic cameras on the same route Bond's now travelling.

"Where did he end up, do we know?" asks Bond.

"His car hasn't been picked up since arriving in Hagley Gap," Tanner tells him. "That's one of the settlements associated with the coffee industry in the Blue Mountain area. But the good news is that Andrew found a house that's been rented in the name of one William Raynard."

"Reinhard," Bond says, convinced that the name is an attempt at the Anglicisation of Reinhard's German name.

"That's what we thought," Tanner says, and gives him the address. "Do you want us to contact the local police force for you, to give you some back-up, since I know you left Anderson and Agent 416 back in Nassau?"

There's an edge of reproach to Tanner's voice, Bond notes, but he doesn't care. He's always preferred working solo, and while he doesn't doubt Eve's competence, he doesn't want to get her involved in anything that might blow her cover in Nassau. As for Anderson, while his efforts since Bond's arrival in Nassau have done a bit to redeem him, Bond still cannot forget that M was kidnapped on Anderson's watch.

"You can let them know to expect a call from me," Bond says, "once I've got M out of Reinhard's clutches, but I don't want them charging in before then – if their timing's off, they could screw everything up, and I don't want to put M at further risk."

"Very well." Tanner's resigned tone tells Bond that this is the answer he'd been expecting, and Bond can't help smirking just a little.

"I'll talk to you later, Bill – just as soon as I've got M safely away."

"All right. Good luck, and James – be careful."

"Of course." Bond realises his tone is nettled, but he supposes he can't really blame Bill for worrying, given his own knowledge of Bond's previous missions.

He ends the call, and puts his foot down: now that he knows M is so near, Bond is eager to arrive and get her out of Reinhard's hands. Having read the SIS file on the man, Bond knows that Reinhard must hate M intensely for what she did to him, not least for entrapping him so that the Service was able to bring down his operation. Bond also suspects that Reinhard will want to punish M for the injuries she inflicted, and he feels his blood run cold at the thought that he might find M has been badly injured in retaliation. 

007-007-007

Bond parks the hired car on the edge of the Hagley Gap settlement, then sets out on foot to reconnoitre the house which had been rented by 'William Raynard'. It's already dusk when he arrives, and Bond knows this will be an advantage to him since it's clear that Reinhard's is only a two-man operation, which means he'll have insufficient manpower to keep watch on all the approaches to the house.

When he reaches it, Bond discovers it's a modest-looking house, with two stories above ground, and what appears to be a basement below ground level. He suspects that it's there that he'll find M, and he crouches down in the shrubbery at the edge of the property, grateful that there isn't a fence around it, and pulls out his thermal imaging scope, which shows him three warm bodies in the room, and one of the bodies is lying on the floor. He bites his lip in an effort to control his temper – it would be a very bad idea to go rushing in there right now – he doesn't have the faintest idea what state M's in: she might be injured and unable to move quickly. What he needs, he realises, is a diversion – which is where having someone else along, Eve for example, would have been useful. But it's too late now: he doesn't have time to wait for Eve to get here.

He decides, instead, to create a diversion that doesn't need another person. He puts the scope away and backs out of the shrubbery, then hurries around to the front of the house where Reinhard's rented car is conveniently parked. He slips off his shoe and from the heel compartment he removes a set of lock-picks, which he uses to let himself into the car, then he reverses the car out of the drive and onto the road; he positions the car so that it will roll down the hill and crash, then he uses the reel of explosive hidden in the back of his watch, together with two fuses, to wire up the petrol tank to explode. 

He lets the car go, and it begins to roll unhurriedly downhill, then he runs back to the house and begins hammering on the door. 

Reinhard's thug appears, and Bond excitedly tells him that some kid had just stolen his car, and gone off in it. The thug cries out angrily, then rushes along the drive and into the road, just as Reinhard himself appears in the hallway.

"What is going on?" he demands, his English heavily accented, but clear enough.

"Some joyriding kid's just stolen your mate's car," answers Bond.

There's a bang from the street as the car collides with a roadside tree, and Reinhard's thug begins to yell invective. Bond is watching Reinhard closely and immediately notices the moment when he begins to feel suspicious about this accident. He dives at the German, knocking him to the ground with a loud thump, but while Reinhard's down, he's definitely not out, and he does his best to flip Bond onto his back. Bond, however, has fought too many men, most of them fitter and less crippled than Reinhard, and he doesn't hesitate to fight dirty, twisting out of Reinhard's reach, then jabbing him in his damaged eye, which causes the German to let out a high scream of pain. Determined not to lose his advantage, Bond pushes up to his feet, then stamps on Reinhard's left knee, before kicking him in the crotch.

Having given the German three different areas of pain to occupy him, he leaps over the screaming man, then races along the hall, through the back door and down the flight of steps which leads to the basement. He remembers to set off the detonator in his watch, and smiles in a satisfied manner when he hears the boom of the exploding petrol tank. 

The basement door is swinging open, so he is not delayed as he rushes through it, then bursts through the door of the room in which he'd seen the thermal image of M. He skids to a halt when he sees her curled on the floor, her left leg cradled in both hands, and makes himself approach her less hastily.

007-007-007 

M lifts her head and sees James Bond kneeling beside her. She blinks, convinced he's yet another hallucination, but he remains looking down at her, his blue eyes holding a mixed expression of concern and white-hot anger. His hand reaches out and brushes her damp hair from her forehead, then he speaks softly,

"Can you walk?"

"N-n-no." She's annoyed at herself for stuttering, even though she knows that's a foolish reaction: she is, after all, in shock from having her left leg broken. "Broke my leg."

"Left?" Bond asks, his voice still soft.

"Yes."

"All right. I'm going to pick you up and carry you out to my car," he says, and she wonders if she's imagining the tenderness in his voice.

"C-clothes?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"I don't know where they are, and I want to get you out of here before your thuggish friend returns and discovers Reinhard bleeding in the hallway. I've got blankets in the car."

She nods shakily, understanding his desire to be gone since she feels the same need. He scoops her from the floor, careful not to bang her broken leg and she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. He moves swiftly, but carefully, and within a few moments he's setting her down on the back seat of a Honda car. He spreads a blanket out across the leather seat, then swathes her in another, and despite the warmth of the tropical night, she's grateful.

"Don't worry, M," he says quietly as she stretches out along the seat. "I'll get you back to London safely."

"I know," she says, her voice less shaky now. "Dear boy, I know."

007-007-007

Epilogue

Three weeks have passed since M was taken hostage in Nassau, and she's finally been allowed home from the hospital after surgery on her shattered leg. She's confined to a wheelchair for at least a week, which isn't making her very happy, but at least she's out of the hospital at last.

Gareth Mallory, head of Joint Intelligence Committee, has been given temporary oversight of SIS in her absence, and she has a sneaking suspicion that Bill Tanner, at least, is hugely relieved that he only had to take control for a couple of days during her ordeal.

Eve's cover in Nassau had remained intact and her operation is winding towards a close. Reinhard and his thug are in the hands of the Nassau authorities, awaiting trial. Her body guard, Colin Anderson, has been sent on some refresher courses, and she's been given a replacement man whom she suspects Bond has threatened with mortal violence if he dares to let her go anywhere without him. 

M has barely been inside her flat for half an hour when the intercom buzzes and Harding tells her she has a visitor.

"Who is it?"

"James Bond, ma'am."

M barely refrains from rolling her eyes, then reflects that at least this time he's not let himself in, and tells Harding to send up 007.

A few minutes later the lift hums and the doors slide open to reveal a surprisingly casually-dressed agent. She tilts her head, looking him up and down appraisingly as he steps out of the lift and saunters towards her, a little smirk curling his lips. Dark blue jeans cling to his legs, and a white t-shirt is visible under his half-zipped black leather jacket; she can't help thinking that he looks devilishly handsome, but she's not about to tell him that – his ego doesn't need any further boosting.

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

"I think you can dispense with the 'ma'am' for now, James," she tells him, and sees a flicker of pleasure in his blue eyes.

"How are you?"

She supposes it's a reasonable question in light of the fact it's the first time she's seen him since they parted company at Northolt, he to a debriefing, and she to an encounter with an orthopaedic surgeon.

"Glad to be home, at least," she says. "Although I shall be even happier once I can dispense with this thing." She taps on the arm of the wheelchair, and his expression sobers.

"I'm sorry I was too late to stop that scum from doing that to you," he says, which makes about the fifth apology he's made her, by her count, the other four having been delivered en route to Kingston airport, on arrival at Nassau airport (dressed in clothes he'd hurriedly purchased for her at an airport shop in Kingston), on their departure from Nassau, and just before they'd landed at Northolt.

"James," she chides. 

He shrugs, looking half-defiant, half-angry. "Ten minutes earlier," he reminds her, needlessly, "and – "

"Stop it at once, 007," she says sternly. "That's an order."

He looks slightly startled, then smirks. "There isn't that much wrong with you, then," he observes, and she scowls, which makes him smirk even more. "I've brought you some things." He indicates the Harrods carrier bag in his right hand.

"You didn't need to do that," she says swiftly, somewhat embarrassed.

"No, but I wanted to." He gives her an enquiring look, and she nods at the sofa beside which her wheelchair is positioned. 

"Do sit down, James, or you'll add a crick in my neck to my woes."

He chuckles softly, then sits beside her, putting the bag down on the floor between his feet. She nearly chokes when she sees the first item he brings out – a large teddy bear wearing a blue-based tartan kilt and tam o' shanter. 

"His name's Hamish," Bond tells her. "I thought you might be glad of someone to shout at, or pummel, as the need arises."

She shakes her head, but accepts the bear, inspecting it closely, before thanking him. Next comes a box of shortbread, half-coated in chocolate; then a tartan neck scarf, in the same colours as the teddy bear wears.

"I know that it's not very sexy," he tells her, "but I thought you'd appreciate it now the weather's turning colder."

She raises an eyebrow. "What's the sexiness, or not, of it got to do with anything?"

He blushes, which surprises her, then shrugs his shoulder. "Just because you're an older woman, doesn't mean you're not allowed to look sexy," he mutters.

She stares at him, astonished to hear him say such a thing. "What's come over you, James?" she asks quietly.

He flicks a quick glance at her, then stares at his shoes. "I – nothing ma'am. I'm sorry, that was disrespectful of me."

She leans over the arm of her wheelchair and clasps his arm. "There was nothing disrespectful in what you said, James. And I'm flattered that you consider me sexy." She cocks her head at him. "When did this start?"

He turns to look at her. "I'm not really sure," he says, his expression thoughtful. "But reading the account of your operation against Reinhard probably solidified it."

It's M's turn to blush at this: she had forgotten that James had told her he'd read that. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out, and then Bond's kneeling on the sofa and leaning over to kiss her very gently on the mouth.

"Oh James," she sighs when he shifts to press his forehead against hers. "I'm much too old for you."

"No you're not," he says firmly. "If you're not too old to run SIS, you are not too old for me." He pulls back and meets her gaze steadily. "You, of all people, should know what a potent aphrodisiac power is."

She shakes her head slightly, less in denial than astonishment – after all, James Bond is a virile man, young enough to be her son, and undeniably popular with women, but it appears he wants to be with her. And she cannot deny that she has long been attracted to him, but she never expected to do anything about that attraction.

"There can be no mention of this at the office," she tells him. "Nor must you expect any special treatment." She sighs. "I daresay this is just a phase, but even if it is, I don't intend to turn you down. Which is probably reprehensible of me."

He smirks. "I won't tell anyone, if you don't."

She mock-glares at him, then says ruefully, "I'm afraid I'm not going to be up to anything athletic for a while yet." 

His smirk softens into a genuine smile. "That's all right. There are plenty of things I will enjoy doing with you that don't involve athleticism."

"Is that right, Mr Bond?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Yes ma'am." He scrambles off the sofa, casts her gifts aside, then lifts her easily out of the wheelchair to carry her through to her bedroom. "I'll show you," he murmurs.

"I daresay there's a thing or two I could show you, too," she retorts, and he laughs, and she chuckles. Maybe her convalescence won't be quite as awful as she'd been expecting after all.


End file.
